


Acknowledgement

by wordsphoenix



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Friends With Benefits, Ginny is a miracle worker, Harry gets frustrated about feelings first, Harry pov, I'm not sure what genre this is but there's definitely no plot, M/M, but Draco catches feelings first, tons of sex mentions and no sex scenes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-09
Updated: 2017-04-09
Packaged: 2018-10-17 00:38:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10582782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordsphoenix/pseuds/wordsphoenix
Summary: Ginny probably knew what she was doing when she invited both of them to that Valentine’s day thing, but fuck if Harry’s going to admit it.Read for Harry being angsty, tons of mentions of his and Draco's sex life without any actual sex scenes, and over-reliance on Harry's POV and dialogue to provide all the characterization.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Probably should have had another human look at this before I posted this but it felt done and I really wanted to post it so forgive me if my single proofread was insufficient and please be honest if you comment :) Also sorry about the formatting- the paragraph indentation stops at about the halfway point and I will maybe have time to fix this eventually but until then please bear with me
> 
> ***read for subtle and probably not apparent to anyone but me brokeback mountain undertones***

            Well. First it was the damned Christmas party. That’s what started it. Harry never would have started flirting with Malfoy if he hadn’t come to sit by Harry at the damned Christmas party.

            “I don’t want to go.”

            “But you have to go.”

            “I know.” Harry adjusted his dress robes with a sigh. It was a good thing he and Ginny were still roommates, because, if they hadn’t been, he would’ve found it a lot harder to attend technically-mandatory ministry colleague Christmas parties.

            “There are going to be a lot of other people there to discuss Dark wizard hunting with. Most of them are from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, too, aren’t they?”

            “Yes.” This particular dinner party was supposed to be a great networking opportunity for Harry. He would have been more content lounging around the rest of Friday night in his pajamas. “Thanks for coming with me.”

            “Sure,” Ginny said, straightening her own dress robes. “Although I’m not sure why you’re not more irritated by all the relationship rumors this is going to start.” Because people assumed they’d gotten back together whenever they were spotted out together. Even though they’d both made it very clear to each other (and anyone else who was willing to listen) that that was never going to happen. They were better as friends.

            “It doesn’t matter. I get all my news from the Quibbler.” Harry flat-out refused to subscribe to the Daily Prophet, though, admittedly, it was necessary to pick one up from time to time to stay current.

            “Sure you do.”

            Harry ignored the skepticism and checked his watch. “We’d better go.”

            “How are we getting there?”

            “Muggle bus?”

            “You’re absurd,” Ginny said, nevertheless following him down the stairs and through the front door of Number Twelve. “I don’t know why you do that. Muggles can’t even see the house,” she reasoned as Harry locked up behind him.

            “I’m an Auror, remember? Constant vigilance.”

            “Right.” Ginny rolled her eyes, but smiled at the phrase. It was a favorite joke of the Auror office and all the former DA members, many of whom had found themselves working for Law Enforcement in some capacity. “Which bus will we be taking today?”

            “I’m not sure. I thought we’d check a map when we got to the stop.”

            “Harry. The train’s faster.”

            “And more expensive.”

            “You’re rich.”

            “Not for much longer, though, if that money pit of a house keeps it up.” Refinishing things was a lot more expensive than replacing them.

            “You have a job now. Take the tube.”

            “The tube is uncomfortable. Look, the bus is here.” Harry smiled innocently as their bus pulled up. Ginny gave a resigned sigh as they boarded it.

            The party was being given by someone in the Muggle Liaison Department who was friends with half the Law Enforcement staff. There would definitely be people from other departments present, but, according to the loud suggestion by Harry’s boss towards the end of the workday, this party would be especially interesting to occupants of their office. Harry knew better than to hope none of the guests would tell the Prophet about Ginny.

            Maybe it wouldn’t be that bad. And Ginny seemed excited about the prospect of seeing some of their old school friends. This thought cheered Harry up a little, and he found himself relishing the possibility as they got off the bus.

            They were greeted at the door by Cassandra McDonald, hostess and recently-appointed head of the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office. She raised her eyebrows at the two of them together, but made no comment as Ginny entered with a loud “Cassie!” and dragged Harry in after her.

            He glanced around the vaguely familiar room. He’d been there once or twice with Mr. Weasley (who had been promoted to head off the new Muggle Liason Department) for dinner, not to mention past Christmas parties. There were already a fair few people there, though apparently no one from their time at Hogwarts or the Auror Office. “Ginny,” Harry said, snagging her attention on her second tour of the room, “Have you seen anyone?”

            Likely hoping to avoid the complaints she’d hear later if Harry didn’t have a tolerable time, Ginny glanced around. “Yes, over there.” She pointed, smiled, and disappeared again.

            Harry looked in the direction she had been pointing and was happy to see Ron had just arrived.

            “Harry!”

            “Good to see you, Ron.”

            “We were at work together two hours ago,” Ron said, “but I guess I see your point. Anyone from the DA here? We haven’t caught up in ages.”

            “I know. Tragically, I think we’re the only ones.”

            Ron gave the room a once-over. “Is that Ginny? Did you bring her?”

            Harry stared. “Who else was I going to bring?”

            Ron gave him an incredulous look. “You could’ve gone stag. You know half the people in this room have been trying to shag you since Auror training?”

            “No.” Harry resisted the urge to point out that, until a few minutes ago, he’d been the only one in the room who had completed Auror training, because none of their coworkers had seemed to have arrived yet.

            “Harry, come on. When was the last time you got out of the house?”

            “Ron, I’m here right now.”

            “This is for work, doesn’t count.”

            Harry took a step away from the flow of people moving through the doorway and hissed, “I’ve dated six people in the past few months.”

            Ron looked surprised, probably because Harry had opted to keep some of his relationships from his friends pending successes that never came. “There were only two in the Prophet.”

            “You know I hate the stupid Prophet. Besides, only two of them knew about magic.” Harry had tried to avoid dating within the wizarding world (which typically, for him, meant Ministry employees anyway) due to the annoying and often ridiculous attentions of the press whenever they found out. Ever since he’d broken up with Ginny, Harry’s supposed quest for love had become a favorite topic for gossip. It certainly hadn’t helped that he’d started dating men as well.

            Hermione appeared behind Ron. “Look, Harry, you know we want you to be happy.”

            “Where did you come from? And I thought you hated these things as much as I did.”

            “Yes, well, I thought it might be nice to see a few old friends.”

            “Good luck. We haven’t spotted any.” Harry directed his attention to the entryway, which was more crowded than ever before. “Is that Luna?”

            Ron turned to look, while Hermione wondered how Cassandra was going to fit so many people in the dining room. “She might be able to do it with some type of expansion spell.”

            Another guest’s voice chimed in from over Harry’s shoulder. “I heard it was two temporary tables outside, but that sounded like more trouble than it’s worth.” A familiar voice. A little deeper and warmer than remembered.

            Harry turned and nearly crashed into Draco Malfoy, who was unexpectedly close in the packed room. His expression shifted when he recognized Harry; most of the smile went out of it, replaced with uncertainty. “Potter.”

            “Malfoy.”

            For a split second they just stood there, neither seeming to know what else to say.

            Hermione’s sigh drew both their attentions, though Harry couldn’t help but notice (or maybe hope) that Malfoy gave him a once-over before glancing at her. “You two aren’t going to start that ridiculous feud again, are you?”

            “No,” they said at once, both perhaps a bit more defensive than necessary. Malfoy also worked at the Ministry, though his and Harry’s paths barely crossed. They had seen each other occasionally at events like this, but neither of them had ever gone out of their way to be more than cordial to each other.

            “I was just being friendly,” Malfoy said, half-smiling, half-grimacing.

            “I’m not sixteen anymore, Hermione,” Harry assured her.

            “Sometimes I wonder. Well, as long as the antagonism I heard in your voices wasn’t _intentional_ …”

            “What antagonism?” Harry demanded.

            “Really, Granger, I don’t think either of us-”

            “Relax. I was only teasing. Come on, Ron, that’s definitely Luna. No one else would wear orange to a Christmas party.” Hermione pulled Ron (who appeared not to want to remain in the vicinity of another of Harry and Malfoy’s historically uncomfortable encounters) deeper into the room, and they were quickly obscured by the crowd.

            “Been doing well?” asked Malfoy. The effort seemed to pain him a little.

            “Yeah, thanks. You?”

            “Well enough. Work’s always busy.” Malfoy worked for Magical Transportation’s Research and Development team.

“I can imagine.” The Ministry had been particularly concerned with integrating more muggle technology into the wizarding world. He’d heard that muggle transportation was too technically complicated to integrate with magic yet, which probably meant that Malfoy’s job involved a lot of failure and frequent explosions.

            Not that Harry cared, really. They stood there for another second before each turned as if to leave.

            “Potter.”

            “Malfoy.” That was about the extent of most of their conversations. Harry dove into the throng, hoping, again, to find someone he knew.

            Luna did turn out to be there, as did Parvati Patil, who ended up being seated next to Harry at dinner (Malfoy had been right about their eating outside). Parvati worked in the Department of Mysteries and was unable to say much about her current work, but she and Harry had an interesting discussion about the few of her findings which had been declassified for wider Ministry use.

            The atmosphere of the party seemed to become much more casual after dinner. Cassandra ushered everyone inside for drinks and desserts. A few people made excuses about having early Saturday plans and left. A glance at Ginny informed Harry he wasn’t going to get off so easily; she was clearly enjoying herself. Wanting a break from socializing, Harry grabbed a dessert from the designated table and found an unoccupied sofa.

            A few minutes later Malfoy headed over. He looked like he was attempting to do the same thing as Harry. Harry felt the cushions shift a little as Malfoy sat on the other end of the couch. Both of them stared out at the party, this silence more comfortable than the ones before. The few feet of distance probably helped.

            “Enjoying the party?” Malfoy asked suddenly.

            Harry almost dropped his cake. He had been rather enjoying the wordless solidarity and wondered what had inspired Malfoy to break it. “More than the last one.”

            “Was that the one near Halloween? Some ridiculous costume party, up in Fund Allocation?”

            “Yes.” The Fund Allocation Department was notorious for their Halloween parties, though Harry hadn't found the few he'd attended to be to his taste. Call him old fashioned, but he preferred cozy dinners to loud music and ridiculously-dressed crowds. “Didn’t Cassie go dressed as a farm animal to that one?”

            “I think it was a lamb. Either that or a sheep.”

            “Aren’t they the same?”

            “I think ‘sheep’ is less complimentary.”

            Harry chanced a sideways look at Malfoy, who was drinking something purple and had a brownie balanced on a napkin in his lap. He looked softer than before, more laid-back. Harry reminded himself to stop comparing Malfoy to the person he'd been six years ago and asked, “What were you that year?”

            Malfoy turned and met his eyes. “I think someone convinced me to go as a tree.”

            The image of Malfoy, exceptionally leafy, popped into Harry’s head. He resisted the urge to smile. And then failed. “It was very creative.”

            “Better than a sheep. Or, what were you, some Quidditch player?”

            Harry was definitely smiling by that point. “I was Viktor Krum.”

            Malfoy scoffed. “My costume required some complicated transfiguration. All you had to do was buy some robes.”

            “I didn’t.”

            Malfoy turned to Harry and raised his eyebrows. He looked mildly interested, if still sporting the resigned, polite expression he seemed to wear most of the time mixed with the exceptionally familiar irritation Harry’d gotten used to years ago.

            “Magicked his name on the back of ones I already had,” Harry explained, still smiling.

            Malfoy snorted and returned his eyes to the party, taking another sip of his drink.

            “Is that the punch?”

            “Yes. Wouldn’t recommend it. A bit heavy-handed with the vodka, for my taste.” He glanced back at Harry. “You don’t seem to have a drink.”

            “Don’t like drinking in public. Or much at all, actually.”

            “Oh?”

            “Just what I need, another Prophet headline: Harry Potter goes home with a fellow Ministry employee, fails to return owls.”

            Malfoy laughed and looked away again. After a second, he offered Harry his glass.

            Harry took a sip and handed it back. “That’s vile. How can you stand an entire glass?”

            “Helps with all this,” Malfoy gestured to the room. “Just enough to take the edge off. I imagine it’s easier when you don’t have Skeeter’s minions chasing you up and down London.”

            “They’re not too bad,” Harry reasoned. Was Malfoy sympathizing with him? Sincerely? “The trick is staying in the muggle parts of the city. They lose interest pretty quickly when you’re grocery shopping.”

            “I’ll have to try that next time some new scandal comes out about my family. That’s really the only time they bother me anymore. As long as I donate to charity a few times a year and refrain from sending the editor any scathing letters.”

            Harry stared. “You’ve sent Rita Skeeter hate mail?”

            “Oh, yeah. Threatened to sue, as if I could get Law Enforcement to take me seriously. She saw through me, I think, and kept printing rubbish about my family. Eventually I gave it up and people lost interest.” He shrugged. “I’m not exactly front page material anymore.”

            “Neither am I.”

            “Maybe, but someone always seems to spot you when you’re seen out with some a witch. Or wizard, what was his name…?”

            “Thomas? He was the one who told the Prophet himself.” Harry smiled ruefully. A part of his mind was questioning how the conversation had gone on so long without becoming awkward. Another part of him was enjoying it, inspiring both confusion and pleasant surprise. Given they were talking about their exes.

            Malfoy’s face twisted in an expression of distaste. “He sounds awful.”

            “He was.” More comfortable silence. “Have you dated anyone lately?”

            Malfoy appeared mercifully nonplussed. “No. Not since Ophelia.”

            “Shame.” Marvelous comment, Harry thought to himself. Really spectacular.

            Malfoy turned as his eyebrows shot up again. “Thanks.” A smile seemed to play on the edge of his features, like he were just holding one back.

            Harry was flirting and Malfoy was participating. Fifteen alarms went off in Harry’s head as he scrambled for a response that sounded appropriately uncaring. “No problem.” There. Back to the soft antagonism.

            Malfoy looked away, smiling. Well. Maybe Harry hadn’t exactly been going for antagonism. Hesitant companionability?

Malfoy’s voice yanked him out of his thoughts. “I’d have thought you dated more. Being the savior of the wizarding world and everything.”

            “I do.” The words came out before he could stop them, and, really, given the way things had been going, Harry shouldn’t have been surprised with himself. “It’s easier with muggles. No press.”

            Malfoy shot him a strange look. Surprise mingled with curiosity, as if he were uncertain why Harry was sharing so much (that made two of them) but wanted to know more. “That’s a good idea,” he said finally.

            “What?”

            “Dating muggles. Obviously the press isn’t an issue for me, but I… I think it’d be nice. Spending time with someone who didn’t know my entire family history.”

            “Oh.” Harry was a bit taken aback by the readiness with which Malfoy had accepted the idea. “The lying’s not the greatest, though.”

            “What do you tell them you do? For work, I mean?”

            “Private Investigator. High profile clients, so I can’t even disclose details anonymously.”

            Malfoy laughed again. “Nice. I tell my neighbors I’m an inventor.”

            “Are you?”

            Malfoy studied Harry’s face for a moment. “Yeah. Sometimes I am.” His eyes lost focus, and the hint of a smile was back again. “A few months ago I found a way to make Portkeys with a wider radius around the object, so if someone lets go they won't fall off somewhere halfway to their destination.”

            “Wow.”

            Malfoy waved the comment away. “It’s nothing. Really all I’ve done is come up with a more stable version of what people have been trying to do for years. Your work has to be interesting.” Seeing Harry’s hesitation, he added, “I’m not friends with any of them anymore, you know. Wasn’t in the first place, with most of the Death Eaters. Doubt I would’ve passed the Ministry background check otherwise.”

            Harry nodded. “Last week we caught someone doing experiments on muggle stuff.” Malfoy looked interested, so he continued, “Dangerous objects. Cars, electric generators, things like that. Sometimes it’s just a fine, changing the paint color or fixing a wire or whatever, but he nearly blew up half his block.”

            Malfoy’s eyes were wide. “If he wanted to blow things up, he should’ve applied for a job in my office. Mixing magic and muggle technology is dangerous, especially outside Ministry safeguards.”

            “I’ll send you a copy of his record on Monday. As a CV, in case he gets out of prison anytime soon.”

            Malfoy stared for a moment, then downed the rest of his punch. “Your jokes are terrible.”

            “It’s the effort that counts, Malfoy.”

            “Whatever.” Malfoy stood. “As lovely as it was talking to you,” he sounded surprised again, and, despite the recent insult, sincere, “I have a project I wanted to check on tomorrow morning. See you around?”

            “Yeah. Good luck with your work.”

            “Thanks.” Malfoy looked at him a second longer, then disappeared in the direction of the front door. Harry watched him go, attempting to make sense of the conversation they’d just had. Could Malfoy have also been flirting on purpose even though it was a terrible idea and Harry didn't know what had possessed him but he had definitely liked it?

            Ginny’s voice over his shoulder made Harry drop his cake. “Having fun?”

            “I’d be having more fun if I’d gotten to finish that.”

            “So go get another. I won’t make you stay too much longer. Go catch up with Luna or something.”

            “I saw her earlier,” Harry said, but Ginny was already gone.

            It turned out Ron had had his fill of the party, as well, and Ginny sent him over a few minutes later. He and Harry talked about their newest case, exchanging a few theories, until Ginny reappeared.

            “Ready to go?”

            “Yes,” Harry said immediately.

            “You would leave me, your best friend, in my hour of need?” Ron stared up at him from the couch.

            “No,” Ginny replied easily. “Hermione’s still here somewhere. I’m sure she’d be happy to keep you company. The two of you _are_ engaged, aren’t you?”

            “Keep your voice down!”

            “Oh, sorry. I’d have thought you would’ve gotten around to asking her by now.”

            “No, I haven’t, and I don’t appreciate you risking the surprise-”

            Ginny ignored him. “We’d better go, Harry.”

            “See you Monday, Ron.”

            “You’d better not say anything, Ginny!”

            She shook her head as Ron disappeared behind a small group of chatting Ministry employees. “I’m guessing she’s figured it out by now,” Ginny said to Harry.

            “So am I. I think she mentioned it last time I had dinner with them, actually, while Ron was out of the room.”

            Ginny shook her head. “Hopeless. Spends every workday fighting crime and he probably won’t have the nerve to do it until next Christmas. How about you and Malfoy, though, eh?”

            “I- we- it wasn’t-” Harry spluttered incoherently.

            “You don’t need to blush about it, Harry. I’m better at reading a room than you are at casting a Patronus.”

            “That isn’t- hang on, what do you mean?” Harry switched from outrage to curiosity midsentence.

            “Ha!” Ginny skipped a couple steps. “I knew it!”

            And now he was back to outrage. “What- you-”

            “You expressed interest,” Ginny said smugly.

            “That’s hardly an admission of anything! All I did was ask a simple question!”

            “You asked a simple question about Malfoy, who, if I recall correctly, shared his drink with you-”

            Harry turned red again. “That wasn’t even-”

            “It’s okay, Harry. Clearly it was just a friendly conversation.”

            “Clearly.”

            “If you’re going to bring him home, though, you might want to warn me first.”

            “Why do I let you live in my house?”

            Ginny shrugged. “I still haven’t figured it out, and it’s been, what, two years?”

            “Feels like longer.”

            “You like having me around, though.”

            “I guess.”

            Ginny kissed him on the cheek and went to sit under the bus shelter.

            “Oh, are we taking the bus?”

            “I think the tube’s closed.”

            A smug smile spread across Harry’s face. “So, buses are a reliable form of transportation, then?”

            “When you’re too squeamish to apparate.”

            They argued like that for the whole of the ride. By the time they got back, Harry was grateful for bed.

x

            The next two weeks passed in a too-short blur. One minute Harry was sprawled in the drawing room with Ginny, debating the merits of changing the wallpaper; the next, he was dragging himself downstairs for breakfast Monday morning, reminding himself for the thousandth time that it was almost Christmas and he'd do well not to get on Kreacher’s bad side.

            “Don’t know why you don’t just send him to Hogwarts,” Ginny muttered as Kreacher disapparated to some other part of the house.

            “He’s obsessed with this place.”

            “He’s not the only one.”

            “Don’t insult my house,” Harry said quietly.

            Ginny gave him the curious look she always did when Harry got possessive about Grimmauld Place, sighed, and continued spreading jam on her toast.

            Christmas was good, if a little lonely, and Harry found himself wondering how Malfoy was doing.

x

Harry had not been expecting to run into Malfoy (and have the opportunity to flirt with him again) so soon after the last time. Both of them had been invited to the Valentine's Day singles party Ginny was throwing. Both of them wanted to avoid Ginny's transparent matchmaking attempts, Harry steering clear of the blonde witch from Games and Sports and Malfoy obviously distancing himself from the dark-haired Quidditch player Ginny had met at a convention.

Malfoy's expression conveyed his regret at attending about as clearly as did Harry's repeated exits to "go check on dinner" and "make sure the door didn’t lock itself again" even though Ginny was the one hosting the party. Malfoy seemed sympathetic and much more friendly than was usual for them when he engaged Harry in conversation before dinner. Talking to Malfoy proved much more pleasant than dodging Ginny's setup. And then they agreed that might as well sit together at dinner, since it was better than being completely alone.

“What got you into Magical Transportation?” Harry was having a nicer time talking to Malfoy than he thought possible. Granted, they were sticking to safe topics.

Or at least Harry thought they were. “You really want to know? It might upset you.”

Harry was taken aback by the thought that Malfoy’s chosen career path could in any way bother him. Some part of his brain reminded him that anything was possible with Malfoy, but he hesitated a second before answering. “Go ahead.”

“The cabinet. I didn’t want to fix it, obviously, and didn’t have any idea how, but I… I still thought about the magic afterwards. We touched on something like it in Charms seventh year. I spoke to Professor Flitwick, and after that-” He glanced at Harry, probably gauging his reaction. Harry was just listening, expression blankly curious. Malfoy went on, “It’s strange, finding out you want to do something because- I’ve tried to understand how it all worked out, but I always end up thinking it’s an awful coincidence. Coincidences can be like that, I guess.”

Harry nodded. “I see it at work all the time. But-” he paused for a moment as he searched for the words “- I don’t think it’s horrible that you found out that way. Like you said, that’s just the way things work out sometimes. You shouldn’t have to feel bad about liking your job.”

Malfoy smiled humorlessly. “That’s the thing. I don’t. Kind of gets in the way of thinking I'm a good person, though, doesn’t it?”

“No.” Before Harry realized what he was doing, he was reaching out to place his hand lightly on Malfoy's knee under the table. Because _that_ was within their unspoken boundaries. “You’re a different person.”

“Yeah.” Malfoy looked away as Harry drew his hand back. The moment passed. “I suppose it was Dumbledore’s Army that did it for you, then?”

“That was a large part of it. Strangely enough, though, I think I had some idea after being in class with Professor Lupin. He was the first real Defense teacher we had, you know?”

"What, you weren't as in love with Lockhart as the rest of them?"

Harry raised his eyebrows. "Are you saying you _weren't_ in love with Lockhart?"

"I knew he was an idiot, if that's what you're asking."

Harry grinned and spared a glance around the table, realizing he hadn't made the slightest attempt to talk to anyone else in a very long time. They seemed occupied, which was just as well since he was enjoying Malfoy’s company. "Unfortunately I wasn't as self-aware as you while I was still in school."

When Harry’s eyes settled back on Malfoy, his expression was open. "Are you talking about Blaise?"

Harry shrugged. And then he blurted maybe the stupidest thing he'd ever said in his life. Or the best. He wouldn’t realize until later which. "Sometimes I wonder what would have happened between us if I'd figured myself out sooner.”

Malfoy looked at him for a beat, astonished.

And then the entire world shifted an inch to the left or slowed down for a second or stopped existing around them or something, because Malfoy placed his hand on Harry's thigh under the table and said, "I have a few ideas."

His hand was gone so quickly Harry would have thought he'd imagined it, if not for the way Malfoy was smirking. So he'd probably done it just to fuck with Harry. The party went on around them like nothing had happened.

Except then there was this tension that didn't break and it became suddenly much harder to talk to Malfoy and Harry wondered if perhaps Malfoy's hand on his thigh had been a catalyst for the shattering of years of hard-won sanity until Malfoy leaned in after dinner and whispered in his ear, "I was serious, you know."

That was how Harry found himself following Malfoy out of the party twenty minutes later.

“Where are we going?” asked Malfoy, and it occurred to Harry that they hadn't said a word to each other about it.

“Not sure. Seems one of our places would be best, wouldn’t it?” Malfoy didn't answer, so Harry added, “We could turn around and go back to mine. If you want.”

Malfoy’s eyes flickered. “I do want. But haven't we just left Ginevra and ten other people in clear view of the staircase?"

"I can apparate us to my bedroom and cast a silencing spell."

Malfoy wrapped his arm around Harry's waist and said, "Now, please," so Harry did it.

Draco’s lips were on his before he could register a thought.

“Fuck,” Harry said when he pulled back.

“What are we doing?”

Harry grinned. “I was hoping you’d like my suggestion.”

“That wasn’t a suggestion, it was a response to-” Their eyes met. It felt like Draco was pulling him, like the kiss but more not close enough than that. Draco glanced away. “I meant how.”

“I think I’d prefer bottoming you.”

He’d said it so steadily Draco’s eyes snapped back to him. “Really?”

“Yes.”

Draco surged forward to kiss him again. Then he pulled back and said, “Too many clothes.”

Harry wholeheartedly agreed.

x

They weren’t doing anything, really. They were just. Meeting with each other a few times a week to have really needy sex.

Harry didn’t especially like the word, but it was much better than ‘desperate’ and, thank Merlin, more accurate. It was just that after that first time the thought of not having sex when both of them wanted to was ridiculous. It was a mutually beneficial relationship and the fact that it was mostly sex suited them just fine. Also they were both very verbal in bed (or at least unexpectedly straightforward and willing to communicate, in Draco’s case) which was enlightening (in that it made it very easy for both of them to be aware that the sex was good and should happen on a regular basis for the satisfaction of their inexplicable and primal need to fuck away their frustrations or… whatever the fuck else Harry was using to justify it to himself). It wasn’t that he needed to justify anything, just- he was having casual sex with Malfoy in secret and that was not a thing that Harry expected to be doing ever.

Until he’d done it, after which the thought of not having sex with Draco at every given opportunity became… unpleasant.

That was another thing. On the way up they used first names, and when both of them were panting and sweaty and more happy than either of them really should have been given that the arrangement was a sex-only emotionless (impossible) sort of thing- back to ‘Potter’ and ‘Malfoy’ like flipping a fucking switch.

Which was fine. Harry was surprised at how fine he was with only having sex after the string of failed relationships. Actually, it was kind of nice, because they didn’t ever have to tiptoe around each other for fear of saying something wrong or seriously question whether they were after each other’s money. They talked when they felt like it, and fucked when they felt like it, and no one was asking Harry when he was going to settle down because they thought he’d be sad about the question because they thought he was single- which he was, he reminded himself. Indefinitely. Until fucking Draco Malfoy stopped feeling like that.

x

When Ginny found out it was inconvenient. They had a conversation about it. Or. He and Draco did. Ginny he’d threatened to kick out as the only serious thing he could hold against her, and she had insisted sarcastically that she totally bought his emotionless sex excuse and seriously promised not to tell anyone.

“Maybe we should.”

“What?” Draco was taking off his socks. It was a slow day. Sometimes they did that. When they were talking more.

And pretending they were both there for the sex more than for the talking. “Tell people. Maybe we should. Like, not… I mean, I wouldn’t mind, I don’t think. If we just told our friends.”

“Are we talking about the people I think we’re talking about? Because, if we are, I feel obligated to inform you that your idea is one of the least reasonable things I’ve ever heard and that we shouldn’t do it.” Draco pulled off his shirt.

Harry sighed. “Forget I asked.”

x

The next family dinner was phenomenal.

“Anything interesting going on at work, Harry, dear? Anyone interesting?”

Ginny smiled into her cup.

Harry tried to ignore this. “No, Mrs. Weasley, just… I’m sure Ron’s told you about our latest cases.”

“That he has. Seeing anyone?”

Ginny slid her chair back rather loudly from the table. “Bathroom,” she said to her mother. She shot Harry the briefest of glances before she left the room.

“Nope. Not for a while.”

“I’ve heard Harry dates muggles, now,” George said conversationally from farther down the table.

“Really?”

“Yeah, sometimes. It’s a bit easier without Prophet photographers hiding in the bushes.”

“Harry, could I talk to you for a second?” Hermione stood up. “I wanted to ask something about work. Ministry stuff.”

“Sure.” Harry would gladly discuss work with Hermione if it meant he didn’t have to keep deflecting the relationship questions.

The two of them exited the dining room accompanied by loud protests from George (“You can trust me! Half this table works there!”).

“Yeah, Hermione?”

“D’you think Ron’s going to ask tonight? Because my parents aren’t here, yet, and-”

“Hermione.” Harry stared her dead in the eyes. “I have no idea what Ron’s planning.” Somehow, he had managed to keep his plans secret from every Weasley, Harry, and Hermione. “If he mentions anything, I’ll make sure he knows to wait for them.” They were Flooing in for dessert, which explained why she was worried about Ron’s timing.

“Alright. About work, then. How illegal is it-”

“Hermione?”

“Hm?”

“I’m guessing that, whatever you’re talking about, it’s at least a little illegal, and that you’re already planning to do it.”

She bit her lip. “Yes, well…”

Harry sighed. “I don’t have the law codes fully committed to memory, but I am also guessing that you know exactly which one you were going to ask about?”

“Two actually, but more specifically-”

“Hermione?”

“Hm?”

Harry gave her a pleading look. “Please?” He was willing to bet she had the specific laws fully memorized, and she also knew it put Harry in a much more difficult ethical position (not that he wouldn’t overlook quite a bit of lawbreaking for her, but still) than it would have Ron. And that it was unlikely either of them would have more insight into her chances of getting arrested than she did.

Hermione sighed. “Fine. I’ll only ask if I mess up or otherwise risk getting caught.”

“I’m sure you won’t.” Harry moved as if to reenter the dining room.

“One more thing, Harry.”

“Is it about breaking the law?”

“No.”

Harry breathed a sigh of relief. “Good. Shoot.”

“Are you dating Ginny again?”

“What?”

“You can’t expect me not to notice there’s something going on between you.”

Harry grimaced, annoyed. “Yes, actually, there is. Ginny is trying to play matchmaker and I’m trying to stay out of her way.” That was not the most truthful way to describe Ginny’s frequent attempts to convince Harry to confess his (nonexistent) love (or actual feelings, which he was successfully and strategically ignoring) to Draco, but it was the best he could do without accidentally saying too much and setting Hermione on the case.

Hermione looked as though she wanted to ask and knew him well enough not to. “Alright. If anything did happen, it would make sense why you wouldn’t want to tell anyone. You can always talk to me, though, Harry.”

“And you can always talk to me. Should we get back to dinner?”

“I suppose so. Looks like Ron’s just made it back from sending his owl…”

He didn’t propose that night.

x

He waited until her birthday in September.

            By then she’d forgotten all about the proposal scare mid-May and she and Ron had long since stopped buying Harry’s ‘I’m not seeing anyone, really’ line.

            He was having a pretty hard time continuing to lie to himself about it, too, actually, because six months of casual sex with the same person wasn’t casual sex. It wasn’t a relationship, either, but it was something.

            Something Draco tried to deny every fucking time Harry brought it up in any capacity. “My friends are getting suspicious.”

“Just now?” Draco's voice was casual. Harry knew it wouldn’t be twenty minutes from then when he was whispering Harry’s name into his skin and looking at him like nothing else mattered, but. They’d been denying the connection everywhere but in bed for that long, so what was a few more months?

Maybe if Harry were lucky he could stretch it out to an entire year of pretending not to care about each other. He made his voice as even as he could to reply, “I’m not sure. They’ve only just brought it up.”

“Mine have been suspicious for a while.”

And there went Harry’s composure. “And you didn’t think that was something you should tell me?”

Draco shrugged, infuriatingly nonchalant for someone who had a furious glare pointed his direction. “It isn’t like they’re going to find out. Even if they did, what would we tell them? We’re fucking?”

Yeah. Fucking. Because that was all it was. Harry inhaled sharply and reminded himself that Draco was always like this and he shouldn’t have expected it to be different just because he was becoming legitimately disappointed every night Draco didn’t stay over. “I’d prefer they didn’t find out.” Yeah, that was a lie.

“So would I. So we’re on the same page. And you can go back to doing brilliant things with your tongue and making me forget I’ve had a shit day.”

“I’ve had a shit day, as well.” It came out flat. Because Harry was looking at the reason his day had been horrible and also one of the few reasons he was ever good lately and that was not a thing he could say.

“Are you tired?”

No. Mostly I’m just upset that when we’re fucking you look at me like I’m everything and you won’t even fucking acknowledge that any other time. “Not particularly.”

“Then you can top and we’ll call it even.”

“Draco-” Harry cut off at the look on Draco’s face. No. He wasn’t doing this tonight. “You don’t want to talk about this.”

Draco wasn’t going to _listen_ tonight. “No.”

“Not now.”

“No.”

“Will you ever?”

Draco held his gaze for a moment, then looked away. “Depends. Are you talking about our friends, our shitty days, or something else?”

Harry could- he could do that. He could have just this. For a while longer. It was worth it. He could keep up the pretenses if it meant he got to see the look on Draco’s face when he came. “Nothing. Forget I asked. And turn around. Please.” He needed Draco to not look like he did right then, though, so. Compromise.

Draco’s eyes flashed too quickly for Harry to tell with what. “Already?”

“We'll forget about our shitty days sooner.” Well, Draco hopefully would. Harry’d be lucky if he didn’t burst into fucking tears midway through his orgasm.

“So we can pass out and wake up and have shitty days again tomorrow,” Draco said, but he acquiesced to Harry’s request.

x

            Apparently it took a nervous breakdown to convince Draco they were doing more than fucking.

            It was something stupid about work. It was always something stupid about work that got either of them talking too much, or, in Harry’s case, calling Draco and eviscerating the separation between their conversations and their feelings the second he stepped through the fireplace.

"I'm not done," Harry whispered. "It's not finished."

Draco didn’t need to ask because Harry was guessing he looked ruined enough at the moment for it to be clear. And maybe they knew each other well enough by then either way. "It’s over, Harry."

"No. It's not- it's not enough. I haven't done enough."

His voice was even but Harry could sense the anger under the surface. "Like hell you haven't."

"Draco." His voice came out more pleading than he wanted it to, more pleading than he thought it really should have.

"You don't need to save everyone. That isn't your job."

Harry glanced up. "Until the last dark wizard's locked up in Azkaban."

Draco held his gaze. "That won't happen in your lifetime or your children's or their children's. As long as there are wizards, there'll be dark ones."

"It's not fair," Harry whispered. He couldn't make his voice any louder because saying it felt like admitting defeat. "It isn't fair."

"I know it's not." And then Draco did something he'd never done ever.

He wrapped his arms around Harry and held him there like he was promising everything was going to be okay even though he'd just admitted it never would be. Harry hugged him back.

"There's a difference between doing enough and saving everyone."

"No."

"Yes." Draco's arms tightened, and Harry dug his hands into his shoulders, desperately, clinging to Draco even as he said things that made Harry want to pull away. From him, from comfort he didn't deserve, from the reality of it. "You've done enough." And Draco's hand was in his hair, or stroking it softly or some approximation of another thing he'd never done except maybe when Harry was half-asleep. "It's alright now."

It took a second for Harry to realize he was crying. His whole body ached like Draco was pulling him one way and everything he wanted to believe was pulling him another.

Key word wanted. Because he hadn't been able to believe that for a very long time. Almost since the first time he'd seen Voldemort. The Chamber of Secrets, had to be. When it started affecting more than just him and the two volunteers he could never turn away. When he got the first glimpse of the way he could indirectly hurt someone and be powerless to stop it.

It was like Draco was drawing out the years of this and forcing Harry to feel it again. Forcing him to acknowledge the thing he'd said to himself over and over again as he stood, alone, impossibly alone out on the ruined castle grounds in the middle of the night because how could he sleep after that? And how could he expect anyone to take any part of this burden on themselves, when it was his for so long he'd got sickly accustomed to the weight of it?

Maybe that was it. Got used to the weight that would always be too much, and so it never went away. He kept expecting for people to need him and when they didn't he had to find other people who did.

In the years after the war the Auror department was overrun and no one was going to tell Harry Potter he'd done enough. When his friends had tried he'd pushed them away and dealt with it on his own until he could pretend it was wholly gone and look okay enough again for them not to worry. I'm fine, I'm fine, I can do what's expected, I'm fine until he was sobbing into Draco Malfoy's shoulder and wondering how he'd managed this long without falling apart so completely.

Draco had stopped stroking his hair for a minute but he started again and said "shh" like he could feel how far gone Harry was through the tear-damp fabric of his shirt.

Some time later, Harry didn't know how long, he asked Draco to fuck him so he could forget. They both knew it was a fucking terrible idea because they had been emotionally honest with each other (because Draco hadn’t sobbed into Harry’s shoulder but they’d been seeing each other long enough for him to have broken down and talked to Harry a few times) and while Draco could maybe keep that separate from his sex life Harry definitely couldn't. So.

They did it anyway. Harry insisted it’d be okay. Draco's protests were mostly "Are you sure you want to do this" because he knew Harry understood that Draco knew him well enough to know what they were doing was going to be different. Different even from those moments close to climax when it seemed like they had already crossed the line into caring about each other more than they cared about what that meant for everything else.

Harry realized a few minutes into the discussion they were having, or argument, or whatever it was in which they were carefully avoiding saying exactly why there was even a question of them fucking (because it wouldn't be- it wouldn't be just that) that maybe Draco didn't want to do it because he didn't want Harry crossing that line with him. Or because it'd be more real that Draco had crossed it once Harry did.

"I'm sorry," Harry said. "I know. I know it'll be different."

"Harry."

"I know but I want you anyway. It's bad of me. It's selfish. But we've already proven I'm selfish, haven't we. So maybe-"

"Harry."

Harry watched his eyes change.

"You aren't selfish for wanting it."

He waited.

"I can."

"Shouldn't have asked."

"No. I don't mind."

"Yes you do."

Draco's voice came out through gritted teeth. "I don't. Now will you stop being all self-sacrificial and _let me_."

"Okay."

Harry started to fall apart again within ten minutes of them both finishing. As soon as he'd come down, basically. "I'm sorry."

"Don't." Draco was on his side and Harry on his back and he could feel the pleading look slicing into him like a piece of broken glass but he wasn't going to let Draco do that.

"I shouldn't have done this. I shouldn't have called. I knew you'd come over. I knew you would come and I knew this would happen and I fucking did it anyway."

"I knew what I was doing and I came over. I should be apologizing to you."

That made him turn his head and look at Draco full on. "What?"

"I knew when I saw you that this was going to happen. The second the connection went through. We both knew it. We've known it the whole time. I knew it the moment you started having feelings for me and you knew it when I did. I could see the wall you put up the last few times you were fucking me. I watched it come down, piece by piece every time, until you pulled me under with you. Until we were both-" he cut off abruptly. Took a breath. "Maybe I took some twisted satisfaction in knowing this was going to be the moment you finally acknowledged it. But I also knew that if you did it’d be over. I’d be unable to pretend I didn't have feelings for you anymore, I mean. So I. Don't know what this is for you but if you're worried about sparing my feelings don't be."

That hurt Harry more than he'd thought it would and also confused him because he thought- he thought Draco knew him well enough to know what he was going to do. Well enough to realize that all his failed attempts to talk about their relationship had been failed attempts to make it one. So Harry said, "I'm falling in love with you and I'm okay with it," and meant it.

He was staring at Draco and saw cautious hope and the wavering willpower that forced it back down again. "Really?"

"Yes."

"This isn't just some post-orgasm thing? You aren't saying this because I'm the first one on the face of the fucking planet to tell you everything you've done is enough?"

And that hurt because Harry hadn't expected him to be so vulnerable and so blunt in one go, but, well, that was Draco. "There's a difference between imagining feelings and acknowledging them."

Draco looked away. "I don't know if I can believe you."

Harry snorted, which got Draco's eyes back on him again. "Not two minutes ago you said you knew I had feelings and you knew when you came over I'd have to acknowledge them."

"I knew you had feelings, yes. But that doesn't mean I know how you're going to handle them."

"I just have. I'm falling in love with you, Draco Malfoy. And I don't care about our stupid pasts or your infuriating unwillingness to believe me, because it's true. And I want to do this. This being whatever you want it to be, as long as it's more than just sex. So, yeah. It's handled."

Draco was staring and staring and staring until he reached up to take Harry's face into his hands and pull him into a kiss.

"Alright?" Harry said breathlessly when Draco pulled away.

"Sorry. And I'm falling in love with you, too. Or actually-" he took a very deep breath then and Harry held his, "- I think I am in love with you already, maybe."

Harry exhaled. "Maybe?"

"I refused to have faith in you once today. Don't want myself looking like an idiot for any other reason."

Harry smiled. "Okay. We're doing this, then?"

"Yeah." Draco rolled onto his back and grabbed Harry's hand. Harry watched his expression shift to uncertainty before he said, "What about the rest of it?"

"What rest of it? We're together now. What other thing could there be for us to- oh." Because Harry knew exactly. “Fuck them. Fuck what they think.”

“They’re your best friends, Potter. And I know it looks like people don’t care, but a few inches below the surface it’s-”

“Fuck them,” Harry repeated. “It’s my decision and I want you. If they don’t like it they’ll get over it. If not, I really don’t know what I was doing hanging around them for all these years, because clearly they don’t trust me well enough to consider me a friend. As for everyone else, we're us. I'm pretty sure Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter can handle the media fallout. Or I am if you are."

"You don't care if people think-"

"Draco."

He met Harry's eyes before glancing away again. "Right."

"Are you okay with it?"

Draco turned to stare at him. "I'm more than capable of dealing with a few scathing articles. The hate mail will let up once they've all realized Harry Potter thinks me redeemed enough, sans Imperius curse, to declare his love to me. I presume that's what you'll be doing?"

He'd gone right into that tone he got when they were just talking, taking the piss back and forth in a way that was all playfulness but for a little challenge except now Draco’s affection was there too and not cautious at all and it made Harry feel brilliant. "I think another tell-all interview with the Quibbler should suffice."

"Will I need to pose for the cover with you, or are you going it alone the better to prove you aren't being force-fed love potion?"

"I reckon you'll have made up your mind by the morning of the interview."

"Do you want me to come?"

Harry laughed. "Draco, it's me."

"Silly me, I must've forgotten. Shall we both quit our jobs to spend every waking moment in domestic bliss?"

"And every sleeping moment."

"Yes." Draco snuggled up to Harry's side, wrapping an arm around his waist. "Those, too."


End file.
